I'm gonna do this early, because I'll be at work on the day. Also, because I'm in that place. It's been a long week. A week of being so painfully homesick for a city that I breathe, a dog that I cherish, and a life that I left behind. Not to mention the people. Oh, the people. Yeah, the people. The people I let fall out of touch. The people I couldn't make it work with. The people I ran away from. All of them.
This, kids, is not a trite blog about an episode of Saturday Night Live. It is also not a breakdown of amazing drama withstood in the face of tragedy. It is also not a vain attempt at a Home Improvement Lesson.
It is, for me a record, that exists in the ether. A way to shout in an forest with no one listening, in an attempt to fucking...find...my...mojo. You know, the one I left on a corner with that Navajo guy in the International District in Seattle, or at Microsoft, 2 floors below Bill Gates while TMCWDITW invited me to lunch and regaled me with tales of Uncle Tupelo and a guitar player I both loathed, and, ultimately, loved.
Yeah. It's about that. Its about my exhusband. That's right, I had a husband once. Like many parts of my life, I'm willing to give most things a shot...even marriage, though I didn't believe in it beyond the Disney aspects. How can you, when it too, exists in multiples? Even my father married twice - my mom was his second wife. My best friend's second marriage, WAAAAY better than the first which was a...what, an excuse to move out of single barracks, really.
Mine? It was for the Kid. The kid...that's funny too - she's now 18, and just got married herself. She doesn't give me much weight in her life. She thinks I can eat 3 cheeseburgers in a sitting, if you believe Facebook (which, admittedly, I do). Whatever. I tried as hard as I knew how with that kid. In 2001, before she came to live with us, (it was that Xmas that he brought her home) it was just he, me, the dog, and his crazy 6-toed cat (which he got rid of, just like me). We were in the car, headed to work - it was when we still both worked at the same repro house. He would later leave there to go build harps and dulcimers, a dream job that he would also leave in just 3 more years (the lying, the anger, the inability to maintain a sensible personality among creative peers seems to be an issue. He's fine, it appear,s with people who don't have legitimate emotional expectations. Or, I'm a jerk, and so is Dusty Strings, but whatever.)
That morning though, we were headed down Admiral Way, about to hit the West Seattle Bridge, listening to NPR as we did every morning. And they announced that one of the twin towers had been hit by a plane - there was still much confusion, and when we got to work, the internet was locked up (we were lucky to be in a tech company, but the outlets still didn't work as well as they do now). we pieced it together, and I'm pretty sure we were sent home early. We spent it camped out in each other's arms in front of the TV, amazed, astounded and profoundly (I still feel, dunno about him) astonished at what had transpired. That night, we went to Alkai, where people were lighting candles and standing vigil.
I was alone and angry when my dad died. I wanted so much to be able to have someone to hold me. There was no one, when I needed it so, so very much. On 9/11, I had it, and it happened. And, while I am glad that I was able to share my astonishment and grief with someone I loved, there was (and is) a bit of me that was so incredibly pissed off. My father died by a second heart attack on the car lot where he spent his retirement days talking and dealing in classic cars. I loved him, and when he died, suddenly and without warning - sure there were condolences, but...he was simply, in the end, dead.
Do not misunderstand me. I am not saying that 3000 innocent inhabitants of the twin towers, planes and Pentagon on that day weren't victims. However, they also were not martyrs. The died through a cruel twist of fate, as most of us will. Seriously. who plans death? other than the critically ill? the fact that the US loses more people to natural disaster than terrorism or political violence is due only to our relative wealth, and our staggering entropy.
I'm not saying we deserved retribution for wonton warmaking, but, it was certainly, due to happen.
Previously, the violence had been done on our soil by our own people. Finally, we joined the ranks of the big boys and became subject to the panic and fear that most other nations live with (the same fear that Norway experiences now, though of course, they are only at the level of Oklahoma City, wait til they hit the Big Leagues).
Ok, I'm derailing. This was supposed to be about SMRGE. But I can't. I still can't. Amazingly, it still aches. It still hurts to admit I was wrong....or that I fucked up a great thing. Either way, it hurts, and for me, that's what 9/11 is. Oh, except for Arlie, and his posts from ground zero - that was transcendental.Maybe next post I can get to that. That inspiration that...that still works when I remember to work it.
Like everything else.
Wishing much strength and goodwill to all who read this, and to all who remain behind those amazing NYFD and others who tried to save their community. You are missed. Just like my dad. We miss those who are gone from our lives in whatever way they were part of it..
